


One Step Away From Down

by fiddleyoumust



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Dallas Stars, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 16:52:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14289225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiddleyoumust/pseuds/fiddleyoumust
Summary: Tyler’s felt hallowed out and raw for weeks. He’s tired and he’s running on empty and he knows it has to be ten times worse for Jamie who has more responsibility and carries it heavier than most. Jamie’s been carrying them all for so long and Tyler knows he’s tired. He’s tried his best to shore him up, to take some of the burden onto his own shoulders and bear the weight.





	One Step Away From Down

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this right after the road trip from hell and before the Stars were officially eliminated. When I went back to it, I wasn't sure I wanted to finish it, but here we are. Unbetaed.

Tyler’s just gotten into bed and gotten all the dogs settled when his doorbell rings. All three dogs bolt off the bed, barking and running toward the front door. It’s a little after 4 in the morning and Tyler knows there’s only one person it could be.

Jamie’s in his running gear, covered in sweat and out of breath, his head bent down so that Tyler sees where Jamie’s hair is finally breaking free of the gel he put in it before the game yesterday. They’d traveled all night, rolled into the airport a few hours ago and Jamie apparently went for a run.

“We’re not gonna make it,” Jamie says between labored breaths.

Tyler knows he’s talking about the playoffs, but it cuts a little close to home, an echo of something Jamie said a few years back when they were young and stupid enough to think two NHL stars could be in love and keep it a secret. At the time, Tyler thought the secret part would be the hard part, but it turns out love is maybe the most fragile thing Tyler’s ever held in his hand. Now they’re this -- friends and teammates who are sometimes sad and lonely enough to show up on each other’s doorstep and try to get something back they wish they hadn’t lost.

“Bullshit,” Tyler says. “We’re going to make it.”

Jamie looks up, his big eyes wide and uncertain, and Tyler pulls him into the house with the dogs snuffing at his feet. Tyler doesn’t give a shit about probabilities or averages. He’s always sucked at math and there’s no way to quantify a man’s will or a team’s spirit. 

He’s tired too, but they’re both still here. They’re both still standing.

“We’d have to win basically every game we have left,” Jamie says, his voice small and defeated. 

Tyler hates hearing it. Jamie’s maybe the strongest person he knows. Tyler loves him, despite all the shit they’ve done to each other over the years. There’s not many people Tyler will stick his neck out for, but he’ll always fight for Jamie even if it’s Jamie he’s got to fight.

“So we’ll win every game,” Tyler snaps, angry and vibrating with it.

Jamie huffs an unhappy laugh, shaking his head as he reaches down to scratch Gerry’s head.

“Everything feels out of control,” Jamie says. “If I could just do something. If I could fix it somehow...”

Tyler’s felt hallowed out and raw for weeks. He’s tired and he’s running on empty and he knows it has to be ten times worse for Jamie who has more responsibility and carries it heavier than most. Jamie’s been carrying them all for so long and Tyler knows he’s tired. He’s tried his best to shore him up, to take some of the burden onto his own shoulders and bear the weight.

He can’t fix anything for him. It’s bullshit that Jamie thinks he has to do it alone because they’re team. Him and Jamie. The rest of them too. Twenty three men who sink or swim together. Tyler can’t fix this and neither can Jamie, but maybe for a little bit they can pretend they can.

“Hey,” Tyler says, moving closer as he pushes through the sea of dogs between them to get into Jamie’s space. “Just stop thinking.”

He offers himself up, tilting his face toward Jamie and they come together like opposite ends of a magnet. Even Jamie’s mouth feels sad, and Tyler kisses him harder, pulls him closer until they’re clinging to one another in the middle of his entryway, two shipwreck survivors in the middle of a violent sea. 

Tyler’s determined to drag their entire fucking team kicking and screaming into the postseason. His shoulder hurts and his ribs are bruised. His leg is fucked up from the hit he took in the Washington game. 

Everything hurts inside and out.

The kiss ends and Jamie won’t let go. He leans into kiss Tyler again, but Tyler steps away, takes Jamie’s hand and leads him back to his bedroom. He locks the dogs out and all three give him a look that’s part betrayal and part disbelief that Tyler’s abandoned them for two weeks only to kick them to the curb for a sad booty call. 

When Tyler turns from the door, Jamie’s standing nervously in the middle of his room, fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt. Tyler takes two steps toward him and stops when Jamie takes a step back.

“I shouldn’t,” Jamie says.

No shit. 

Neither of them should.

They’re both assholes for different reasons. They’ve both got things to be sorry and guilty about. And while Tyler’s fine carrying some of that shit for Jamie where the team is concerned, he’s not about to try and absolve Jamie or pick up more of the burden on the personal front.

“Then don’t,” Tyler says, stepping aside so Jamie has a clear line of sight to the door.

Jamie’s eyes flick between Tyler and the door and he says, “But I want to.”

“Then shut up and come kiss me,” Tyler says. 

Jamie takes two strides across the room and kisses him. Tyler feels relief that’s quickly replaced with desire as Jamie deepens the kiss, pulls Tyler close and pushes a hand up the back of Tyler’s shirt to rest in the dip of his spine. 

They both turn frantic at the touch, Jamie pushing at Tyler’s shirt in between hard kisses while Tyler fumbles with Jamie’s running shorts. He gets them over Jamie’s hips and Jamie steps out of them when they pool at his feet, toeing his shoes off at the same time.

Tyler steps back and pulls his shirt over his head, watches as Jamie does the same and then smiles at how hot and stupid he looks standing in Tyler’s room in nothing but his sweaty socks. 

“Don’t laugh at me,” Jamie whines. 

Tyler does laugh then, unable to stop himself.

“Take your stupid socks off,” Tyler says.

“Take your stupid pants off,” Jamie challenges, but he bends over and pulls his socks off anyway. 

Tyler watches him instead of dealing with his own clothes because Jamie is fucking beautiful and he doesn’t get this anymore. He didn’t appreciate it nearly enough when Jamie was his and he knows he can’t get a do-over, but he can at least treasure the moment.

Jamie tosses his sock on top of his discarded shorts and t-shirt and frowns at Tyler when he looks up and sees he’s still wearing his pajama pants.

“Fine,” Jamie says, coming back over to Tyler and pushing him toward the bed. “I’ll do it myself.”

Tyler flops backward on the bed when Jamie pushes him, lifting his hips as Jamie hooks his thumbs in the waistband of Tyler’s pants. He works them down Tyler’s legs, tosses them on the floor and crawls up Tyler’s body.

It’s not often that Tyler feels small, but somehow Jamie always manages to dwarf him. He pulls Jamie down on top of him, revels in the solid weight of him pressing down on all the aches and pains of the season.

Jamie presses a kiss to Tyler’s chest, right where his heart is beating fast, and Tyler wonders wildly if Jamie can read his mind -- kissing him right where this season has hurt most of all.

Tyler wants to be fucked, but he can already make out the soft pink of dawn outside his bedroom window. They’re both bone tired, weary and heartsick , and Tyler wants to feel good right now. He wants to make Jamie feel good. And there’s a small part of him that knows all of this is going to disappear in the light of day.

He rolls them over, and Jamie goes pliantly -- let’s Tyler put him on his back and straddle his hips. Tyler leans over and pulls his lube from the bedside table, drizzles it over Jamie’s dick and his own hand and then tosses it back on the table.

Jamie thrusts into his grip when Tyler wraps his hand around them both, his fingers digging painfully into Tyler’s thighs. It hurts in a good way. Everything with Jamie hurts but the sex and the hockey are a good kind of pain, the kind that makes Tyler feel more alive. 

“We’re going to make it,” Tyler says fiercely, jacking them both hard and fast.

He’s talking about the season, but he’s talking about them too. Maybe it won’t always be like this. Maybe they won’t always be each other’s crutch. Maybe someday Tyler will stop being in love with Jamie. Or, Jamie will remember how much he used to love Tyler. 

None of that matters though. They’re always going to be team and that means that when Jamie can’t stand, Tyler will fucking carry him. When Tyler’s too tired to go on, he knows he can rest his head on Jamie’s shoulder and sleep. 

“Say it,” Tyler demands, watching as Jamie bites his bottom lip and strains toward orgasm.

“We’re going to make it,” Jamie says breathlessly.

Tyler kisses him, squeezes their dicks together and looks at Jamie’s face when he comes. He works Jamie through his orgasm then focuses on himself, stripping his cock hard and fast until he comes all over Jamie’s belly.

He runs his hand through the mess, licks the pads of his fingers and then leans down to kiss Jamie again, pushing the taste of them into Jamie’s mouth. They’re so good together in so many ways that Tyler can hardly remember why they aren’t together in every way anymore. He’s never loved anyone more. 

Maybe he never will again.

Jamie rolls them onto their sides and they trade sleepy kisses until Tyler can’t keep his eyes open anymore and he finally falls asleep.

He wakes up to a bed full of dogs but no Jamie. There’s a note on his bedside table next to the lube.

_We’re going to make it. See you at the rink.  
_

__

__

_Love,_

_Jamie_


End file.
